Back To Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce
"Not yet, my dear," said Brownie, beaming up at him. That this huge
Major, with four years of war service to his credit, was exactly the
same to her as the little boy she had bathed and dressed in years gone
by, was a matter of nightly thanksgiving in her prayers. "I was just
goin' to settle to it when it come over me that you weren't in--and the
visitors there an' all."
"I'd come and have mine with you in the kitchen if they weren't there,"
Jim told her. "Tea in your kitchen is better than anything else." He
patted her shoulders as he left her at the door of her domain, going off
with long strides to wash his hands.
"We didn't wait for you," Norah said, as he came into the drawing-room;
a big cheery room, with long windows opening out upon the veranda, and a
conservatory at one end. A fire of red gum logs made it pleasantly
warm; the tea table was drawn near its blaze, and the arm-chairs made
a semicircle round it. "These poor people looked far too hungry to
wait--to say nothing of Wally and myself. How did the car go, Jimmy?"
"Splendidly," Jim said, taking his cup, and retiring from the tea-table
with a scone. "Never ran better; that man in Cunjee knows his job, which
I didn't expect. Are you tired, Tommy?"
"Tired?--no," said Tommy. "I was very hungry, but that is getting
better. And Norah is going to show me Billabong, so I could not possibly
dream of being tired."
"If Norah means to show you all Billabong before dark, she'll have
to hurry," said Jim lazily. "Don't you let yourself be persuaded into
anything so desperate, Tommy."
"Don't you worry; I'll give her graduated doses," Norah said. "I'll
watch the patient carefully, and see if there is any sign of strength
failing. When do you begin to teach Bob to run a station?"
"I never saw anyone in such a hurry," said Jim. "Why, the poor beggar
hasn't had his tea yet--give him time."
"But we are in a hurry," said Tommy. "We're burning to learn all about
it. Norah is to teach me the house side, while you instruct Bob how to
tell a merino bullock--is it not?--from an Ayrshire." Everybody ate with
suspicious haste, and she looked at them shrewdly. "Now, I have said
that all wrong, I feel sure, but it's just as well for you to be
prepared for that. Norah will have a busy time correcting my mistakes."
"You aren't supposed to know anything about cattle and things like
that," said Norah. "And when it comes to the house side, I don't think
you'll find I can teach you much--if anyone brought up to know French
cooking and French housekeeping has much to learn from a backblocks
Australian, I'll be surprised."
"In fact," said Mr. Linton, "I should think that the lessons will
generally end in the students of domestic economy fleeing forth upon
horses and studying how to deal with beef--on the hoof. Don't you,
Wally?"
"Rather," said Wally. "And Brownie will wash up after them, and say,
'Bless their hearts, why would they stay in a hot kitchen!' And so poor
old Bob will go down the road to ruin!"
"It's a jolly prospect," said Bob placidly. "I think we'll knock a good
deal of fun out of it!"
They trooped out in a body presently on their preliminary voyage
of discovery; touring the house itself, with its big rooms and wide
corridors, and the broad balconies that ran round three sides, from
which you looked far across the run--miles of rolling plains, dotted
with trees and clumps of timber, and merging into a far line of low,
scrub-grown hills. Then outside, and to the stables--a massive red brick
pile, creeper-covered, where Monarch and Garryowen, and Bosun, and the
buggy ponies, looked placidly from their loose boxes, and asked for--and
got--apples from Jim's pockets. Tommy even made her way up the steep
ladder to the loft that ran the whole length of the stables--big enough
for the men's yearly dance, but just now crammed with fragrant oaten
hay. She wanted to see everything, and chatted away in her eager,
half-French fashion, like a happy child.
"It is so lovely to be here," she told Norah later, when the keen
evening wind had driven them indoors from a tour of the garden. She was
kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, unpacking her trunk, while Norah
perched on the end of the bed. "You see, I am no longer afraid; and I
have always been afraid since Aunt Margaret died. In Lancaster Gate I
was afraid all the time, especially when I was planning to run away.
Then, on the ship, though every one was so kind, the big, unknown
country was like a wall of Fear ahead; even in Melbourne everything
seemed uncertain, doubtful. But now, quite suddenly, it is all right. I
just know we shall get along quite well."
"Why, of course you will," Norah said, laughing down at the earnest
face. "You're the kind of people who must do well, because you are so
keen. And Billabong has adopted you, and we're going to see that you
make a success of things. You're our very own immigrants!"
"It's nice to be owned by some one who isn't my step-mother," said Tommy
happily. "I began to think I was hers, body and soul--when she appeared
on that awful moment in Liverpool. I made sure all hope was over. Bob
says I shouldn't have panicked, but then Bob had not been a toad under
her harrow for two years."
"I'm very glad you panicked, since it sent you straight into our arms,"
said Norah. "If we had met you in an ordinary, stodgy way--you and Bob
presenting your letter of introduction, and we saying 'How do you do?'
politely--it would have taken us ages to get to know you properly.
And as it was, we jumped into being friends. You did look such a poor,
hunted little soul as you came dodging across that street!"
"And you took me on trust, when, for all you know, the police might have
been after me," said Tommy. "Well, we won't forget; not that I suppose
Bob and I will ever be able to pay you back."
"Good gracious, we don't want paying back!" exclaimed Norah, wrinkling
her nose disgustedly. "Don't talk such utter nonsense, Tommy Rainham.
And just hurry up and unpack, because tea will be ready at half-past
six."
"My goodness!" exclaimed the English girl, to whom dinner at half-past
seven was a custom of life not lightly to be altered. "And I haven't
half unpacked, and oh, where is my blue frock? I don't believe I've
brought it." She sought despairingly in the trunk.
"Yes, you have--I hung it up for you in the wardrobe ages ago," said
Norah. "And it doesn't matter if you don't finish before tea. There's
lots of time ahead. However, I certainly won't be dressed if I don't
hurry, because I've to see Brownie first, and then sew on a button for
Jim. You'll find me next door when you're ready." Tommy heard her go,
singing downstairs, and she sighed happily. This, for the first time for
two years, was a real home.
The education of the new-chums began next morning, and was carried out
thoroughly, since Mr. Linton did not believe in showing their immigrants
only the pleasanter side of Australian life. Bob was given a few days of
riding round the run, spying out the land, and learning something about
cattle and their handling as he rode. Luckily for him, he was a good
horseman. The stockmen, always on the alert to "pick holes" in a
new-chum, had little fault to find with his easy seat and hands, and
approved of the way in which he waited for no one's help in saddling up
or letting go his horse; a point which always tells with the man of the
bush.
"We've had thim on this run," said Murty, "as wanted their horses led
gently up to thim, and then they climb into the saddle like a lady.
And when they'd come home, all they'd be lookin' for 'ud be some one to
casht their reins to, the way they cud strowl off to their tay. Isn't
that so, Mick?"
"Yairs," said Mick. He was riding an unbroken three-year-old, and had no
time for conversation.
After a few days of "gentle exercise," Bob found himself put on to
work. He learned something of cutting out and mustering, both in cleared
country and in scrub; helped bring home young cattle to brand, and
studied at first hand the peculiar evilness of a scrub cow when
separated from her calf. They gave him jobs for himself, which
he accomplished fairly well, aided by a stock horse of superhuman
intelligence, which naturally knew far more of the work than its rider
could hope to do. Bob confided to Tommy that never had he felt so
complete a fool as when he rode forth for the first time to cut out a
bullock alone under the eyes of the experts.
"Luckily, the old mare did all the work," he said. "But I knew less
about it than I did the first time I went up alone at the flying
school!"
His teaching went on all the time. Mr. Linton and Jim were tireless in
pointing out the points of cattle, and the variations in the value of
feed on the different parts of the run, with all the details of bush
lore; and the airman's eyes, trained to observe, and backed by keen
desire to learn, picked up and retained knowledge quickly. Billabong
was, in the main, a cattle run, but Mr. Linton kept as well a flock of
high class sheep, with the usual small mob for killing for station use,
and through these a certain amount of sheep knowledge was imparted to
the new-chum. To their surprise, for all his instructors were heart and
soul for cattle, Bob showed a distinct leaning towards mutton.
"They're easier to understand, I think," he said. "Possibly it's because
they're not as intelligent as cattle, and I don't think I am, either!"
"Well, I know something about bullocks, but these woolly objects have
always been beyond me," said Jim. "Necessary evils, but I can't stand
them. I used to think there was nothing more hopeless than an old merino
ewe, until I met a battery mule--he's a shade worse!"
"Wait till you've worked with a camel in a bad temper, Mr. Jim," said
Dave Boone darkly; he had put in a weary time in Egypt. "For downright
wickedness them snake-headed beggars is the fair limit!"
"Yes, I've heard so," said Jim. "Anyhow, we haven't added mules and
camels to our worries in Victoria yet; sheep are bad enough for me.
Norah says turkey hens are worse, and she's certainly tried both; there
isn't much about the run young Norah doesn't know. But you aren't going
to make a living out of turkeys."
"No--Tommy can run them as a side line," said Bob. "I fancy sheep will
give me all I want in the way of worry."
"And you really think you'll go in for sheep, old man?" asked Jim with
pity.
Bob set his lips obstinately.
"I don't think anything yet," he said. "I don't know enough. Wait until
I've learned a bit more--if you're not sick of teaching such an idiot."
"Yerra, ye're no ijit," said Murty under his breath.
Education developed as the weeks went on. Wally had gone to Queensland,
to visit married brothers who were all the "people" he possessed; and
Jim, bereft of his chum, threw himself energetically into the training
of the substitute. Bob learned to slaughter a bullock and kill a
sheep--being instructed that the job in winter was not a circumstance to
what it would be in summer, when flies would abound. He never pretended
to like this branch of learning, but stuck to it doggedly, since it was
explained to him that the man who could not be his own butcher in the
bush was apt to go hungry, and that not one hired hand in twenty could
be trusted to kill.
More to Bob's taste were the boundary riding expeditions made with Jim
to the furthest corners of the run; taking a pack horse with tucker and
blankets, and camping in ancient huts, of which the sole furniture was
rough sacking bunks, a big fireplace, and empty kerosene cases for
seats and tables. It was unfortunate, from the point of view of
Bob's instruction, that the frantic zeal of Murty and the men to have
everything in order for "the Boss" had left no yard of the Billabong
boundary unvisited not a month before. Still, winter gales were always
apt to bring down a tree or two across the wires, laying a few panels
flat; the creeks, too, were all in flood, and where a wire fence crossed
one, floating brushwood often damaged the barrier, or a landslip in
a water-worn bank might carry away a post. So Jim and his pupil found
enough occupation to make their trips worth while; and Bob learned to
sink post holes, to ram a post home beyond the possibility of moving,
and to strain a wire fence scientifically. He was not a novice with an
axe, though Jim's mighty chopping made him feel a child; still, when it
was necessary to cut away a fallen tree, he could do his share manfully.
His hands blistered and grew horny callouses, even as his muscles
toughened and his shoulders widened; and all the time the appeal of the
wide, free country called to his heart and drew him closer and closer to
his new life.
"But he's too comfortable, you know," David Linton said to Jim one
night. "He's shaping as well as anyone could expect; but he won't always
have Billabong at his back."
Jim nodded wisely.
"I know," he said. "Been thinking of that. If you can spare me for a bit
we'll go over and lend ourselves as handy men to old Joe Howard."
His father whistled.
"He'll make you toe the mark," he said, laughing. "He won't have you
there as gentlemen boarders, you know."
"Don't want him to," said Jim.
So it came about that early on Monday morning Jim and Bob fixed swags
more or less scientifically to their saddles--Jim made his disciple
unstrap his three times before he consented to pass it--and rode away
from Billabong, amidst derisive good wishes from Norah and Tommy, who
kindly promised to feed them up on their return, prophesying that they
would certainly need it. They took a westerly direction across country,
and after two or three hours' riding came upon a small farm nestling at
the foot of a low range of hills.
"That's old Howard's," Jim said. "And there's the old chap himself,
fixing up his windmill. You wait a minute, Bob; I'll go over and see
him."
He gave Bob his bridle, and went across a small paddock near the house.
Howard, a hard-looking old man with a long, grey beard, was wrestling
with a home-made windmill--a queer erection, mainly composed of rough
spars with sails made from old wheat-sacks. He clambered to the ground
as Jim approached, and greeted him civilly.
"I thought you'd have forgotten me, Mr. Howard," said Jim.
"Too like your dad--an', anyhow, I know the horses," was the laconic
answer. "So you're back. Like Australia better'n fightin'?"
"Rather!" said Jim. "Fighting's a poor game, I think, when you hardly
ever see the other fellow. Want any hands, Mr. Howard?"
"No." The old man shook his head. "They want too much money nowadays,
an' they're too darned partickler about their tucker. Meat three times
a day, whether you've killed it or not. An' puddin'. Cock 'em up with
puddin'--a fat lot of it I ever saw where I was raised. An' off to the
township on Saturday afternoon, an' lucky if they get back in time for
milkin' nex' mornin'. No--the workin' man ain't what 'e was, an' the new
kind'll make precious little of Australia!"
"That's about right, I'm afraid," said Jim, listening sympathetically to
this oration. "Well, will you take me and my friend as hands for a few
weeks, Mr. Howard?"
"You!" The old man stared at him. "Ain't 'ad a quarrel with yer dad,
'ave yer? You take my tip, if yer 'ave--go back and make it up. Not many
men in this districk like yer dad."
"I know that, jolly well," said Jim, laughing. "No--but my friend's
a new-chum, and I want to show him something of work on a place like
yours. We've been breaking him in on Billabong, but he'll have to take
a small place for himself, if he settles, and he'd better see what it's
like."
The old man shook his head doubtfully.
"English officer, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"I dunno," said Howard. "Too much of the fine gent about that sort, Mr.
Jim. I dunno 'ow I'd get down to orderin' the pair of yous about. An' I
ain't got no 'comodation for yous; an' the tucker's not what yous 'ave
bin used ter."
"You needn't let any of that worry you," said Jim cheerfully. "He isn't
a bit of a fine gent, really, and we'll tackle any job that's going.
As for accommodation, we've brought our blankets, and, in case you were
short of tucker, we've a big piece of corned beef and some bread. I
wish you'd try it, Mr. Howard; we don't want pay, and we'll do no end of
work. Murty reckons you won't be sorry if you take on Captain Rainham."
"Oh, Murty says that, does 'e?" asked the old man, visibly cheered.
"Well, Murty ain't the man to barrack for a useless new-chum."
"Great Scott, do you think I am?" demanded Jim, laughing. "Or my
father?"
"Yous cert'nly didn't ought to be," agreed Howard. "All the same"--he
pushed his hat back from his worried brow--"I dunno as I quite like it.
If I take on a chap I like 'im to step quick an' lively when I tell him
anything I want done; an' I don't make no guests of 'em either. They got
to do their own cookin', an' keep things clean an' tidy, too."
"We'll take our share," said Jim. "As for stepping quick and lively,
we've both been trained to that pretty thoroughly during the last few
years. If you're worse than some of the Sergeant-majors I met when I was
training, I'll eat my hat."
"I'm told they're 'ard," said Howard. "Well, I s'pose I'd better take
yous on, though it's a queer day when the son of Linton of Billabong
comes askin' old Joe Howard for a job. But, I say"--and anguish again
settled on his brow--"wot am I to call yous? I can't order you about as
Mr. Jim. It wouldn't seem to come natural."
"Oh, call us any old thing," said Jim, laughing.
The old man pondered.
"Well, I'll call yous Major an' Captin," he declared, at length.
"That'll sound like a pair of workin' bullocks, an' I'll feel more at
'ome."
"Right-o," said Jim, choking slightly. "Where shall we put our horses?"
"Put 'em in the little paddock over there, an' stick yer saddles in the
shed," said his employer. "An' then bring in yer beef, an' we'll 'ave a
bit o' dinner. I ain't killed for a fortnight."
Then began for Bob Rainham one of the most strenuous fortnights of his
existence. Once having agreed to employ them, old Joe speedily became
reconciled to the prospect of cheap labour, and worked his willing
guests with a devouring energy. Before dawn had reddened the eastern
sky a shout of "Hi, Captin! Time the cow was in!" drove him from his
blankets, to search in the darkness of a scrub-covered paddock for a
cow, who apparently loved a game of hide-and-seek, and to drive her in
and milk her by the fitful light of a hurricane lantern. Then came the
usual round of morning duties; chopping wood, feeding pigs, cleaning
out sheds and outhouses, before the one-time airman had time to think of
breakfast. By the time he came in Howard and Jim had generally finished
and gone out--the old man took a sly delight in keeping "Major" away
from "Captin"--and after cooking his meal, it was his job to wash up
and to clean out the kitchen, over which old Joe proved unexpectedly
critical. Then came a varied choice of tasks to tackle to while away the
day. Sometimes he would be sent to scrub cutting, which he liked best,
particularly as Jim was kept at it always; sometimes he slashed mightily
at a blackberry-infested paddock, where the brambles would have daunted
anyone less stout of heart--or less ignorant. Then came lessons in
ploughing on a dry hillside; he managed badly at first, and came in for
a good deal of the rough side of old Joe's tongue before he learned to
keep to anything approaching a straight line. Ploughing, Bob reflected,
was clearly an art which needed long apprenticeship before you learned
to appreciate it, and he developed a new comprehension and sympathy for
the ploughman described by Gray as "homeward plodding his weary way." He
also wondered if Gray's ploughman had to milk and get his own tea after
he got home.
Other relaxations of the bush were open to him. Old Joe had a paddock,
once a swamp, which he had drained; it was free of water, but abounded
in tussocks and sword grass which "Captin" was detailed to grub out
whenever no duty more pressing awaited him. And sword grass is a
fearsome vegetable, clinging of root and so tough of stem that, if
handled unwarily, it can cut a finger almost to the bone; wherefore the
unfortunate "Captin" hated it with a mighty hatred, and preferred any
other branch of his education. There were stones to pick up and pile
in cairns; red stones, half buried in grass and tussocks, and weighing
anything from a pound to half a hundredweight. He scarred his hands and
broke his fingernails to pieces over them, but, on the whole, considered
it not a bad employment, except when old Joe took it into his head to
perch on the fence and spur him on to greater efforts by disparaging
remarks about England. Whatever his work, there was never any certainty
that old Joe would not appear, to sit down, light his short, black pipe,
and make caustic remarks about his methods or his country--or both. Bob
took it all with a grin. He was a cheerful soul.
They used to meet for dinner--dinner consisting of corned beef and
potatoes until the corned beef ran out; then it became potatoes and
bread and jam for some days, until Joe amazed them by saddling an
ancient grey mare and riding into Cunjee, returning with more corned
beef--and more jam. He boiled the beef in a kerosene tin, and Bob
thought he had never tasted anything better. Appetites did not need
pampering on Howard's Farm. Work in the evening went on until there was
barely light enough to get home and find the cow; it was generally quite
dark by the time milking was finished, and Bob would come in with his
bucket to find Jim just in, and lighting the fire--"Major," not being
the milking hand, worked in the paddocks a little longer. Tea required
little preparation, since the only menu that occurred to old Joe seemed
to be bread and jam. Jim, being a masterful soul, occasionally took the
matter into his own hands and, aided by Bob, made "flap-jacks" in the
frying-pan; they might have been indigestible for delicately-constituted
people, but at least they had the merit of being hot and comforting on a
biting winter night. Old Joe growled under his breath at the "softness"
of people who required "cocking up with fal-lals." But he ate the
flap-jacks.
After tea the "hands" divided the duties of the evening; taking it in
turn, one to wash up, while the other "set" bread. Joe's only baking
implement was a camp-oven, which resembles a large saucepan on three
legs; it could hold just enough for a day's supply, so that it was
necessary to set bread every night, and bake every morning. This wounded
their employer, who never failed to tell them, with some bitterness,
that when alone he had to bake only twice a week. However, he knew all
that there was to know about camp-oven baking, and taught them the art
thoroughly, as well as that of making yeast from potatoes. "That's an
extry," he remarked thoughtfully, "but I won't charge yer for it, yous
'avin' bin soldiers!"
With the bread set, and rising pleasantly before the fire, under a bit
of old blanket, and the kitchen tidy, a period of rest ensued, when
"Major" and "Captin" were free to draw up chairs--seated with greenhide
with the hair left on, and very comfortable--and smoke their pipes. This
was the only time of the day when old Joe unbent. At first silent, he
would presently shift his pipe to the corner of his mouth and spin them
yarns of the early days, told with a queer, dry humour that kept his
hearers in a simmer of laughter. It was always a matter of regret to
poor "Captin" that he used to be the one to end the telling, since no
story on earth could keep him, after a while, from nodding off to sleep.
He would drag himself away to his blankets in the next room, hearing,
as sleep fully descended upon him, the droning voice still entertaining
Jim--whose powers of keeping awake seemed more than human!
Saturday brought no slackening of work. Whatever his previous hired
men had done, old Joe was evidently determined that his present
"parlour-boarders" should not abate their efforts, and even kept them
a little later than usual in the paddocks, remarking that "ter-morrer
bein' Sunday, yous might as well cut a bit more scrub." The next morning
broke fine and clear, and he looked at them a little doubtfully after
breakfast.
"Well, there ain't no work doin' on Sunday, I reckon. I can manage the
ol' keow to-night, if yous want to go home."
The guests looked at each other doubtfully.
"What do you say, Bob? Shall we ride over?"
Bob pondered.
"All one to me, o' course," said Joe, getting up and stumping out. He
paused at the door. "On'y if yous mean ter stick on 'ere a bit you'll
find comin' back a bit 'ard, onced yous see Billabong."
"Just what I was thinking," said Bob, as the old man disappeared.
"I'm not going, Jim; I know jolly well I'd hate to come back
after--er--fleshpotting at your place. But look here, old chap--why
don't you go home and stay there? You've done quite enough of this,
especially as you've no earthly need to do it at all. You go home, and
I'll stay out my fortnight."